Every profile of him included the obligatory reference to his fondness for—or near-addiction to—Coke. A documentary on the election showed a wall of his campaign office entirely covered with empty Coke cans, each affixed by electrical tape. During the transition, an advertising firm had offered him a large sum for doing a commercial for Coke. He turned it down.

“No thank you,” he said now.

Silva started the coffee-maker and then excused herself and went to the bathroom. Dunne in a low voice explained to Addis how he had located her.

“That was a lucky guess about First Ladies,” Addis said.

“I think I deserved it,” Dunne replied. “I can’t depend on enticing key witnesses with my boyish looks … . She tell you anything yet?”

“She’s friends with Allison Meade. Worked with her in this funny escort business, maybe more of a scam—she claims there’s no sex—but doesn’t know what her friend was up to at the Mayflower.”

Dunne recalled to himself what Al-Fusah had said: “It was clean.” What an odd world, Dunne thought.

Silva joined them at the kitchen table. She had taken her hair out of the ponytail.

“May I ask you a few questions, Miss Silva?” Dunne inquired. He placed his hands on the table, palms down.

She looked toward Addis.

“It’s okay,” Addis said.

“I’ve seen your face before,” she said to Dunne. “I got this great visual memory. Can tell you exactly what everyone I saw yesterday was wearing. Even the day before. And I’ve seen you—on TV, or something like that.”

“I’m the … I was head of the Secret Service detail at the White House until—”

“Until the assassination?” she asked and then feared she had made an impolitic remark. “Oh, sorry.”

“No, that’s alright,” Dunne said.

“But I was telling Nick—okay, if I call you that?”

“Please,” Addis said.

“I was telling him, I don’t want my name in all this. I think it would kill my grandmother. And she just had this operation. And my’rents would go ballistic. They’d be so …” She took a sip of the coffee.

“Miss Silva, I don’t make promises I can’t keep. At least for now I can try to keep you out of this. But I may not be able to guarantee that forever. But—and I don’t want to pressure you—if you don’t help now, then you may become the subject of some official action, perhaps a subpoena, and then your name will be linked to the assassination investigation.”

“That’s not very nice,” Silva said. She turned to Addis for support. He shrugged.

Slamming diplomats, intimidating a young woman—we desperate men are not polite, Dunne thought.

“Okay,” she said. “But please, okay?”

“I will try, Miss Silva.”